One minute Rotgoriel's life was pain.

The next, it was gone, and he was staring at a very puzzled-looking draggit.

Caught mid-flex, Rotgoriel's arms spasmed and his chin hit the ground. Fortunately he wasn't in that weak human body anymore, and that barely hurt.

Oddly enough though, his right hand still felt terrible. He stared at it, at the charred scales and blackened claws.

“Status,” he said, and his eyes widened as he read that his hp had fallen by almost half. Or was it a third? Math was something he was still shaky on. Whatever the case, this was something he hadn't had before.

Nor was he in the place he'd last been, before he blacked out. Rotgoriel turned, eyes luminous as he studied the dark cavern behind, and the walls lined with old bones. The mystical door caught his full attention, and he stared at the gems. Mine? He wondered. There is nobody here to stop me... “What is this place?”

Geebo frowned. “Did you forg— I mean, it is the entrance to a vault of the Old Ones, great little one.”

Rotgoriel took a step back. “They're bad, right?” He vaguely recalled the ancestors whispering of the things pulled forth from the screaming void. If only he could remember...

But he knew his intelligence wasn't up to the task. Galling though it was, he needed a sharper mind much sooner than he expected. Ooooh, this would be a problem.

Well, fortunately he had spared the little slave. “You, draggit. Make me smarter.”

“Great one, your mind is already truly beyond compare! Geebo is not nursemaid, but lair decorator.”

“Well I am smarter than you already, I suppose,” why had he wanted to be smarter? Ah, it didn't matter. There were shiny gems on that gate thing. Rotgoriel's hand hurt, but he reached toward one anyway. The cool, precious stone would make him feel better, he just knew it...

“Great one, please! You will zap your hand again if you do that!”

Wait, what? Rotgoriel paused. “Was this how I got this burn?”

“Yes, you tried to open the lock. But it was tricky.” Now the draggit was looking at him funny. “You said something about going somewhere to read it.”

Reading? He didn't have anything to read except for his status. Obviously the little slave was confused. But going somewhere was a pretty good idea.

Rotgoriel was glad he'd thought of it.

“This door doesn't lead to anything good,” he decided. “Go and find a better place.”

“It is the door out, little great— I mean yes, of course,” Geebo said, fiddling with the glass things over his weak eyes.

“I will go and look too,” Rotgoriel offered, magnanimously. “We'll be twice as likely to find a way out for me if we both look.”

“But how will Geebo find you if Geebo finds the way out?” The little draggit's frills drooped.

Rotgoriel shrugged. “Not my problem. Figure it out.” Then he turned his back on the tempting, so shiny door full of gems, and walked away.

Five minutes later he was lost, bored, and wondering if he should eat something.

Ten minutes later he'd decided that no, he wasn't hungry at all. There was an aftertaste in the back of his throat that told him he'd fed well recently.

Down past the pools of blind fish he went, splashing through the water uncaring, and snapping at the pale leeches that broke their bony teeth against his scales. Soon enough he came to a junction in the cavern, and paused, feeling an odd sensation of indecision.

Why did this have to be so hard? Why was it such work? He should be in his mother's nest right now, growing and eating the food she brought him, and not having to wade through cold, damp caverns with just one slave to keep him company.

Speaking of which, where had that draggit got to? Rotgoriel looked around, but didn't see him anywhere. Typical dumb draggit, leaving him all alone and lost. What had the little creature been thinking?

But a momentary flash of ire didn't take the edge of his self-pity, and alone in the dark, the baby dragon sat down and cried. Tears gleaming like crystal oozed out from his eyes, and he sobbed with no one there to hear.

“I want mother,” he whispered...

...and for a second, just for a second, the image of a human woman looking down at him flashed through his mind. She was smiling and talking, but he couldn't hear her words, and then she was gone.

For no reason he could tell, now the feeling of loss and abandonment was overwhelming.

“What's wrong with me?” he sobbed. “Am I weak? Am I broken?”

And from the darkness of the left-hand cave, someone answered.

The words were quiet, so quiet he could only make out that they were words, but in an instant Rotgoriel mustered his willpower and focused on them.

Something had spoken.

Had it heard him being weak? Rotgoriel bared his teeth. “Show yourself!” he commanded.

Another whisper. Moths dying in a forgotten tomb. Books opening in a library abandoned to ruin. The dead speaking their names to remember them. All of these things sounded like the whispers Rotgoriel heard, and for a second even he felt fear.

But only a second.

Every dragon, from the egg onward, knows that they are the strongest and most terrible thing in the world. And Rotgoriel told himself that over and over again as he crept down the passage, seeking the whisperer in the darkness.

Nothing interrupted him as he went. No leeches here, not even any fish in the pools that shimmered like lakes of liquid obsidian. Something laired here that made the natural creatures of this lightless abyss fearful.

And if he hadn't feared looking weak in front of a potential foe, Rotgoriel would have followed their piscine wisdom and fled as well.

But dragons do not flee without a fight, and so he kept going until he found himself in front of another gate.

This one was black, shimmering black, with white carvings upon it. The carving showed an empty suit of clothes, sized for a human. It stood there, footless. Its sleeves were crossed, armless.

And then Rotgoriel jumped back, as the carving moved.

It lifted one sleeve, moving it along the stone, uncrossing its arms and waving.

“Hello there,” it said, and the voice was a whisper, the same he'd been seeking.

Well, now he'd found it. Rotgoriel glared, trying to feel brave. “I'm not afraid of you.”

“Good. I'm not afraid of me either. We have so much in common.” The carving shifted. Now the suit of clothes was standing like a man with his hands on his hips. Without hands. “Who are you? You look... strange.”

The old warning came back to him, the ancestors whispers against truenames given freely to creatures such as this. Now Rotgoriel understood why.

WIS+1

So instead he gave the answer he had been taught. “I am fire. I am death. I am the doom of all who would bear me mallets.”

The suit's neckline twisted a bit, as if he were being scrutinized. “Mallets?”

Wait, was that the word? “Umm...” Rotgoriel paused. “Yes.”

“Are you sure you don't mean malice?”

Rotgoriel nodded. “Of course.”

“Then we should get along ever so well. I don't bear you even a single mallet. I can promise that with every bit of my essence. No hammers here boss, I do so swear.” The suit squatted, resting the elbows of its sleeves on its knees.

That was a relief. Creatures like this thing didn't promise falsely. Rotgoriel knew he would be fine. He was in no danger.

“So why do you look so strange?” The carving continued.

“I look like I look,” Rotgoriel said, growing bored and flopping to the ground.

“Oh... in this world, through your own eyes, sure... but to me you're off. It's like there's two of you, overlapping. And one of these shapes is not like the other...” For some reason that dark, whispery voice said that last sentence in a sing-song tone.

“Okay,” Rotgoriel said, not really caring. “Do you know how to get out of these caves?”

A long pause. Then the carving raised one sleeve to its neckline, the opening of the wrist twitching like someone was stroking their face. “No, I don't. But if this door were open, I imagine I could find it for both of us. Er... all three of us, rather.”

“Yes, the draggit as well,” Rotgoriel nodded. “This is a good idea. Open your door and come out and help me look.”

“Ah... about that.” The figure twisted and turned, making a show of looking around, headless. “I can't open the door myself, boss. Could you do that for me?”

Rotgoriel snorted. “If you are too weak to open a door, then you seem too weak to be of use to me.”

“Oh. Quite the contrary, I assure you. I'm a man of many talents, but I work best when I'm helping others to be stronger. You do want to be stronger, don't you?”

“Well... yes,” Rotgoriel agreed. Who didn't want to be stronger?

“Think of me as a... personal trainer. I help you get what you want. I help you bring woe to your foes. And boss? I do this all for free. For my own amusement and yours.... I can be the best friend you ever did see, and I tell you what; you don't even have to open this door to enjoy the benefits of little old me.”

“No? I thought you wanted me to open the door for you,” Rotgoriel said, confused.

“I did and I do, but see... you interest me. And now that I've had a chance to study you even more, I can see that you're a seeker looking for a patron. Not someone to serve, but someone to guide you. The one that I'm made from can be that guide. And by the time I'm through getting you all you want, I have... faith.... that you'll come back here and release me of your own free will.”

Something about those words both interested and spooked Rotgoriel. “You're made from someone? Who?”

INT+1

The carving was still for a second. Then it spread its sleeves wide. “I am a shard, a fragment of a greater whole. I am one of a thousand, thousand, thousand masks. I am one your ancestors bound here with their might and grace. You can call me the Shade of Business. I know my place, and it is serving you with all of my might.”

“You want me to be a Cultist of your Dark Power!” Rotgoriel realized, eyes going wide.

“Now he gets it,” The carving said, folding its sleeves behind its back and turning to the side, slightly. “You've already taken the plunge, and embraced the path less taken. Why not walk the rest of the way with a friend who bears you not a single mallet?”

“Okay,” Rotgoriel nodded.

“I understand your reluctance, friend, but I can... wait. Okay?” The carving stopped, one sleeve extended.

“I'm already a Cultist so I might as well have more power from it, and you promised not to harm me,” Rotgoriel said. “Besides, you seem to know your proper place. I accept.”

“You're ah, you're willing to pledge to Nial'https, just like that?” The suit asked.

“Just like that,” Rotgoriel nodded.

“Well then,” the carving said, and a line of white appeared above the neck of its empty suit. The line of white spread.

Teeth, Rotgoriel saw. Those are teeth, without a head to hold them.

“If you accept then please, take my hand. Take a poor sinner's hand...” The carving smiled and extended an empty sleeve, white lines traced against the black stone.

And Rotgoriel put out his hand and grabbed ahold of the most solid air he'd ever felt.

YOU HAVE PLEDGED YOUR DARK ALLEGIANCE TO NIAL'HTTPS—

ERROR! TRUENAME MISMATCH!

AKASHICRECORDS.LIB MISMATCH!

ABORTING ELDRITCHFUCKERY.EXE

EXECUTING ROLLBACK...

There was a shudder, and a POP, and Rotgoriel found himself on his back, staring up at the ceiling.

“Ow!” the carving hissed, its shadow voice loud and obviously in pain. “Ow ow ow fraggit ow sonovahuman, what was THAT?”

“What did you do!” Rotgoriel twisted, and leaped to his feet. “Trying to trick me? Trying to attack me while my guard was down?”

“No! That wasn't me. I got hurt too. See?” The figure held up one empty sleeve.

And with a feeling of shock, Rotgoriel stared down at his left hand.

It was shot through with veins of pulsating blackness, that gleamed the same absence-of-color as the door.

“What is this?” Rotgoriel whispered. “I didn't get any condition messages. But it's not going away.”

“It was supposed to be my mark, but it's not,” the Shade of Business told him. “I can't do jack through that, boss. And it was supposed to flare up and then go away, but now it's stuck flaring up. Except... wait. Wait, I see what's going on.”

“Tell me!”

“It's because there's two of you. Both of you have to... accept my offer, before we can seal the deal.”

“So I have to go find the draggit? What does he need with power?” Rotgoriel furrowed his brow.

“No, it's... ah, look. I tell you what. Dreams are a favorite of your new Dark Power. Normally that's not part of my mask, but I might be able to re-consolidate some assets, if you know what I mean.”

“No,” Rotgoriel told him.

“Well, basically, if you go to sleep right here at my door, I'll have a look around as best I can. Maybe get you some answers.”

Rotgoriel glowered. “All I wanted was the way out, and now you made my hand all dark and glowy. I'm not so sure your ideas are good ideas.”

“No mallets, remember? Besides, if I screw up again, that's probably it for me. That whatever it was hurt.”

Rotgoriel chewed it over. “You won't turn any other part of me glowy?”

“I've got no intention of that.”

He was feeling tired. And the Shade's whispering voice was oddly soothing now... “All right,” he decided.

And before he could rethink his choice, the little dragon lay down and slept.

Rotgoriel's Character Sheet

Spoiler: Spoiler

Name: Rutger Royal

Age: 6 Hours

Jobs:

Cultist 1, High Dragon Hatchling 2

Attributes Pools Defenses

Strength: 102 Constitution: 101 Hit Points: 203 Armor: 45

Intelligence: 31 Wisdom: 28 Sanity: 59 Mental Fortitude: 45

Dexterity: 12 Agility: 27 Stamina: 39 Endurance: 0

Charisma: 30 Willpower: 101 Moxie: 129 Cool: 45

Perception: 101 Luck: 30 Fortune: 131 Fate: 2

General Skills

Brawling – Level 8

Dodge – Level 2

Fly – Level 2

Ride – Level 1

Stealth – Level 2

High Dragon Hatchling Skills

Burninate – Level 5

Chomp – Level 3

Draconic Tongue – Level N/A

Dragonseye – Level 11

Limited Equipment – Level N/A

No Thumbs – Level N/A

Scaly Wings – Level N/A

Slow to Age – Level N/A

Cultist Skills

Unlocked Jobs